The Italian Girl (5 page)

Rosanna was horrified. ‘You don’t think Luca will leave, do you?’

‘No, Rosanna. Luckily for you, and unfortunately for him, I don’t think he will,’ Carlotta replied slowly. ‘Our brother’s a very special man. I hope one day he finds the happiness he deserves.’

At the end of May, Carlotta gave birth to a baby girl. Rosanna went to the hospital to see her new niece.

‘Oh, she’s so beautiful, and so tiny. May I hold her?’ asked Rosanna.

Carlotta nodded. ‘Of course. Here.’

Rosanna took the baby from her sister and cradled her in her arms. She stared into the baby’s dark eyes.

‘She doesn’t look like you, Carlotta.’

‘Oh. Who do you think she does look like? Giulio? Mamma? Papa?’

Rosanna studied the baby. ‘I don’t know. Have you thought of a name?’

‘Yes. She will be called Ella Maria.’

‘It’s a lovely name. You are so clever, Carlotta.’

‘Yes, isn’t she?’

The two sisters turned as Giulio came into the room.

‘How are you,
cara
?’ Giulio kissed his wife.

‘I’m well, Giulio.’

‘Good.’ Giulio sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for his wife’s hand.

Carlotta moved her arm swiftly away. ‘Why don’t you give your daughter a cuddle?’ she suggested.

‘Of course.’ Giulio stood up and, as she passed the baby to him, Rosanna saw the hurt in his dark eyes.

Once her visitors had left, Carlotta lay back and stared at the ceiling. What she had done had been the right thing, she was sure of it. She had a successful husband, a lovely daughter, and had managed to avoid bringing disgrace on herself and her family.

Carlotta turned her head and looked down into the cradle. Ella’s dark eyes were wide open, her perfect white skin in contrast to the shock of black hair on the top of her head.

She knew she would have to live with her deceit for the rest of her life.

The Metropolitan Opera House, New York

So, Nico, you have read how I first met Roberto Rossini and how the seeds of the future were sown. At the time that Carlotta married Giulio, I was very young and naive, unaware of much that was happening around me.

For the next five years, I worked hard at my singing. I joined the church choir, which gave me the excuse to practise at home as much as I could. I enjoyed my lessons with Luigi Vincenzi and, as I matured, so did my passion for opera. I had no doubt in my mind what I wanted to do when I grew up.

Throughout that time, it was as though I lived a double life. I knew I’d have to one day tell Mamma and Papa of my secret, but I only hoped the right moment would present itself. And I couldn’t risk them stopping me.

Little else in my life changed. I went to school and worked hard at my French and my English. I went to Mass twice a week and waited on tables in the café every day. Other girls in my class were dreaming of film stars and experimenting with make-up and cigarettes, but I only had one dream: to one day sing on the stage at La Scala with the man who had begun it all for me. I thought of Roberto often and believed – hoped – he sometimes thought of me.

Most days, Carlotta would bring her lovely daughter, Ella, to the café to visit us. Looking back, I realise she was terribly unhappy. The vivacity she’d always possessed had left her and the sparkle had disappeared from her eyes. Of course, at the time, I had no idea why . . .

4

Naples, May 1972

‘Rosanna, welcome. Please come in and sit down.’ Luigi indicated a chair by the enormous marble fireplace in the music room.

Rosanna did as he asked and Luigi sat down in a chair opposite her.

‘For the past five years you’ve been coming to me twice a month. I don’t believe you have ever missed a lesson.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ agreed Rosanna.

‘And in those five years we have mastered the basics of Bel Canto. We have performed the exercises so often you could sing them in your sleep, yes?’

‘Yes, Luigi.’

‘We have seen performances at Teatro San Carlo, we have studied the great operas, learnt their stories and explored the personalities of the characters you may one day play.’

‘Yes.’

‘So, now your voice is a perfectly prepared canvas that is ready to be given colour and shape and turned into a masterpiece. Rosanna’ – Luigi paused before continuing – ‘I have taught you all I know. I can teach you no more.’

‘But . . . but, Luigi . . . I . . .’

He reached over and took her hands in his. ‘Rosanna, please. Do you remember when you first came to see me with your brother? And I told you that it was too early to tell whether your gift would grow as you did?’

Rosanna nodded.

‘Well, it
has
grown, grown into something that is too rare for me to keep to myself. Rosanna, you need to move on now. You’re almost seventeen years of age. You must go to a proper school of music that can give you what I cannot.’

‘But—’

‘I know, I know,’ sighed Luigi, ‘your mamma and papa are still unaware of your visits here. I’m sure they hope that when you leave school this summer, you’ll find a nice boy, marry and give them many grandchildren. Am I right?’

‘Yes, Luigi.’ Rosanna winced at his accurate appraisal.

‘Well, Rosanna, let me tell you something. God has given you a gift, but with that gift comes hardship, decisions that will be difficult to make. And it’s only you who can decide whether you’re brave enough to take them. The choice is yours.’

‘Luigi, during the past five years I’ve lived for my lessons with you. It hasn’t mattered if Papa has shouted at me, or if Mamma made me wait on tables every night, because I could always think of coming here.’ Rosanna’s eyes glistened with tears. ‘What I want more than anything else in the world is to sing. But what am I to do? My parents have no money to pay for me to go to a school of music.’

‘Please don’t upset yourself, Rosanna. All I wanted to hear is that you wish with a passion to make singing your future. I am, of course, aware of your parents’ financial situation, and that’s where I might be able to help you. I’m having a soirée, a musical evening, here in six weeks’ time,’ Luigi explained. ‘All my pupils will be performing. And to this soirée I’ve invited my good friend Paolo de Vito, who’s the artistic director at the great opera house of La Scala in Milan. Paolo is also a director of La Scala’s
scuola di musica
, which, as you know, is the best school of music in Italy. I’ve told Paolo all about you and he’s prepared to come all the way from Milan to hear you sing. If he thinks, as I do, that your voice is special, he may be prepared to help you gain a scholarship to study at the school.’

‘Really?’ Rosanna’s eyes lit up with hope.

‘Yes, really. And I think you should invite your mamma and papa to my soirée and let them hear you sing too. If they’re in a room with people who recognise how talented their daughter is, then I think it may help our cause.’

‘But, Luigi, they’ll be so angry I’ve lied to them for all these years. And I don’t think they’ll come.’ She shook her head dejectedly.

‘All you can do is ask them, Rosanna. Remember, you’re almost seventeen – nearly an adult. I understand you don’t wish to distress your parents, but trust Luigi and ask them to come. Promise?’

Rosanna nodded. ‘Promise.’

‘Now, we’ve wasted enough time today. We’re going to learn one of my favourite arias. You will perhaps sing this at my soirée: “
Mi chiamano Mimi
” from
La Bohème
. It’s difficult, but I believe you’re ready for it. Today, we shall study the music. Come’ – Luigi stood up – ‘we have work to do.’

On the bus on the way home, Rosanna sat lost in thought. When she arrived home she went straight into the kitchen to find Luca.

‘
Ciao, piccolina
. What’s wrong? You look tense.’

‘Can we talk?’ she asked Luca, and added, ‘privately.’

Luca glanced at his watch. ‘It’s quiet this evening. I’ll meet you in our usual place in half an hour.’ He winked at her and Rosanna hurried away before either of her parents saw her.

The Via Caracciolo was bustling with cars and tourists as Luca strolled down towards the seafront. He saw his sister leaning over the railing, looking out at the foamy waves, turned a deep navy by autumn shadow. He watched with a mixture of brotherly pride and protectiveness as two men passed her, then turned back to look again. Although Rosanna would never believe she was as pretty as her sister, Luca knew she was turning into a beauty – tall and slim, her childhood awkwardness gradually giving way to a natural long-limbed elegance. Her long, dark hair cascaded around her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face containing thickly lashed brown eyes. He could refuse her nothing when she smiled at him, and paying for her lessons was the only reason he was still working in the café, doing most of the work while his father sat at a table in the corner, drinking with his cronies.

‘
Ciao, bella
,’ he said as he reached her side. ‘Come, let us have an espresso and you can tell me your problem.’

Luca guided Rosanna to a pavement table in front of a café. He ordered two coffees and studied his sister’s worried expression. ‘Tell me, Rosanna, what’s happened?’

‘Luigi doesn’t wish to teach me any longer.’

‘I thought you said he was pleased with your progress?’ Luca was horrified.

‘He is, Luca. He doesn’t want to teach me because he says I’ve learnt all he knows. Luigi has an important friend at La Scala. This friend is coming to hear me sing at a soirée at Luigi’s villa in six weeks’ time. He may offer me a scholarship to study at a school of music in Milan.’

‘But that’s wonderful news,
piccolina
! So why do you look so sad?’

‘Oh Luca, what shall I tell Mamma and Papa? Luigi wants them to come and hear me sing at the soirée. But even if they did come, they’d never agree to me leaving Naples and going to Milan. You
know
they won’t.’ Rosanna’s lovely brown eyes filled with tears.

‘It doesn’t matter what they say.’ Luca shook his head.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re old enough to make your own decisions, Rosanna. If Mamma and Papa don’t like it, if they can’t appreciate and support your talent, then that’s their problem, not yours. If Signor Vincenzi believes you’re good enough to win a scholarship to study in Milan, and is bringing an important friend to hear you sing, then nothing must stop you.’ Luca reached for her hand. ‘It’s the news we’ve both dreamt of, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Rosanna felt her tension slowly easing at Luca’s words. ‘And it’s you I have to thank. All these years that you’ve paid for me to go to lessons. How can I ever repay you?’

‘By becoming the great opera star I’ve always known you will be.’

‘Luca, do you really think it will happen?’

‘Yes, Rosanna, I do.’

‘And what about Mamma and Papa?’ she asked.

‘You leave them to me.’ Luca tapped his nose. ‘I’ll make sure they come to hear you sing.’

Rosanna leant across the table and kissed Luca on the cheek, her eyes shining with tears. ‘What would I have done without you, Luca? Thank you. Now, I must go home. I’m waiting in the café tonight.’

Rosanna rose from her chair and walked away. Luca gazed across the bay towards Capri, his heart feeling lighter than it had for years.

If Rosanna went to Milan, what was to keep him here?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

5

‘Bastard!’ Carlotta dissolved into tears as she sank onto the sofa. ‘How could you, Giulio?’

‘Carlotta, please, I’m sorry.’ Giulio looked at her in despair. ‘But for five years we’ve been married and for the past four you haven’t allowed me to touch you! A man has needs –
physical
needs.’

‘Which you fulfilled with your secretary! I’m sure everyone in your company must know. I’m a laughing stock!’

‘No one knows, Carlotta. The affair only lasted a few weeks and it’s over now, I swear.’

‘And who was it before that? How many other women have you bedded behind my back?’

Giulio walked across to Carlotta. He sank to his knees and took her hands in his. ‘
Cara
, please, can’t you understand? It’s you, only you, that I want – have ever wanted. And yet, since the day you married me, I’ve never felt
you
wanted
me
. You’ve been’ – Giulio shuddered – ‘so cold. I think, Carlotta, that you only married me because of the baby. Am I right?’

Carlotta looked at him, then pulled her hands out of his grasp as five years of resentment and misery finally boiled over. ‘Yes, you are right. I never loved you; I certainly didn’t want to marry you. I could have had anyone! When I think of the life I might have had . . . And here I am wasting my best years with a man I don’t even like! And you know the funniest thing of all?’ Carlotta stood up, shaking with rage. ‘The baby was not even yours. It wasn’t even
yours
.’

There was a slight pause before she clapped a hand over her mouth, regretting the words she’d just spoken.

Giulio was staring at her. His face had turned deathly pale. ‘Are you telling me the truth, Carlotta? You are telling me Ella is not my child?’

‘I . . .’ Carlotta could not meet his gaze. She put her head in her hands and began to sob.

Giulio stood up and left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Carlotta slumped back down onto the sofa. ‘My God, my God, what have I done?’ she cried to the silent walls. She’d wanted so badly to hurt him for what he had done to her, for taking the only thing she had left – her pride.

Two excruciating hours later, he returned. As he walked back into the sitting room, she ran to him, sobbing. ‘Forgive me, forgive me, Giulio. I was hurt by your affair and I wanted to hurt you. It was a lie, I swear. Of course Ella is yours.’

Giulio pushed her away from him in disgust, his eyes devoid of emotion. ‘No, Carlotta, it wasn’t a lie. Now I think back, it all fits. I can’t believe how blind I’ve been. The baby was five weeks early, and yet such a healthy size. I knew you were not a virgin the first time we made love, although I never said so. Your unhappy face on our wedding day, the way you shuddered every time I touched you . . . tell me, did you love this other man?’